


Heartbeat

by heartofcathedrals



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:17:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofcathedrals/pseuds/heartofcathedrals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles is woken in the middle of the night by Scott's wheezing, he realizes just how much he relies on Scott to keep himself together, even when it seems like Scott has nothing left to give.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted on FF.net under cathedralsinmyheart but has been revised and is now being continued here on AO3. Based on the song "Heartbeat" by The Fray. Enjoy!
> 
> Please leave comments/reviews/kudos!

Stiles' eyes opened to a dark bedroom, the sound of gaspy inhales catching his attention before he could allow the weight of his eyelids to lull him back to sleep. At first he thought that the heavy breathing was coming from himself, a typical mid-night panic attack that had become common since his mother had passed away, but when he rolled over and realized that there was a warm body beside him, he jolted upwards, sitting in a mess of comforter and sheets that was too tight around his legs. 

"Scott," Stiles murmured, voice groggy from sleep. "Scott, wake up. You're wheezing in your sleep." His fingers felt for the touch lamp on his nightstand, bulb blinding him as it lit. 

"S'okay," Scott said breathlessly, easing himself into a sitting position against the headboard as he cringed at the sudden brightness. "Been up for a while…like this." 

“Where's your inhaler?" 

"I don't know…haven't needed it…since the wolf thing." Stiles let his eyes adjust to the light before they focused on Scott hunched forward with his hands gripping his ankles, shoulders lifting quickly with every rapid intake of air, his half-failed attempts to get oxygen through his inflamed airways filling the quiet room. 

"How bad is it?" Stiles licked his lips and let them part as he waited for Scott to get enough air to form a response. 

"Remember lacrosse camp…during the scrimmage…in the rain?" Scott managed, Stiles immediately remembering the pressure of Scott's weight and arm around his shoulder as he lugged him off of the soggy field and helped him to the health office. Scott had breathed in medicine from a mask for twenty minutes, the familiar sound of the buzzing nebulizer unable to ease Stiles' anxiety as he twiddled his thumbs. _Please let it work_ , he thought as his muddy feet tapped worriedly on the clean, white tile. 

"I'll be right back," he assured Scott as his feet hit the carpet, heart beating fast within his chest. 

"Don't wake your dad," Scott begged, and Stiles paused for a moment before opening the door, lips separated once again as he took in the sight of Scott crumpled over himself, white lacrosse t-shirt and gym shorts making him look small against the dark blue of the queen-sized comforter. 

Stiles ripped the medicine cabinet door open when he reached the bathroom and nearly cracked the mirror as it flung backwards and hit the wall. He searched behind bottles of Tylenol and Nyquil for the blue inhaler Scott's mother had given them, an old toothbrush and pack of dental floss falling into the sink with a clatter. Drawers were opened and rummaged through, Stiles' disappointment showing as they slammed loudly against the cabinet frame. 

“What in the hell are you doing?" Stiles' robed father appeared in the doorway, rubbing his face in exhaustion and annoyance. Stiles debated keeping the information about Scott from him, but his stomach flip-flopped as he remembered Scott's labored breathing and the way his eyes had been wide as he sucked greedily at the mist from the nebulizer mask that day at lacrosse camp. 

"Scott's having an attack," he rushed. "I thought maybe there was a spare inhaler in the bathroom, but it's gone and he's getting pretty bad. Mom knew how to-" Stiles stopped himself and looked away from his father for a second before tucking his lips inward and crossing his arms. 

"Where's Scott?" his father asked, and even though Stiles wished that his best friend wasn't asthmatic, he was glad that there was a pressing issue that needed to be dealt with to downplay the fact that he had brought up the subject of his mother. The two hurried for the bedroom where Scott had moved his way down onto the floor so that he could sit against the mattress and bed frame. 

"Hey, buddy," John smiled as he squatted beside Scott to assess his condition, eyebrows forming a V when he realized that this was the worst attack he'd ever seen the kid have. "I don't have any medicine so I'm going to call your mother, okay? Just sit tight." Scott nodded as he continued to fight for air, gasps growing long and deep as his hand rose and fell as it lay against his chest. For a moment, the sound reminded John of the fast, forced inhales and exhales that hallmarked the panic attacks his son had started suffering about year and a half ago. He knew that Scott's asthma was something entirely different, but the desire to calm the attack down was overwhelming, almost as if the kid was his own. As he dialed the McCall house, he couldn't help but dread the nervous voice that would soon be on the other end; no parent, he knew, wanted to receive a phone call so early in the morning. 

"Melissa? It's…look, I'm sorry to call so late, but Scott's having trouble breathing and I can't find the spare inhaler you gave us a while back." 

Stiles felt his fingers begin to fidget, anxiety rising as he watched his friend struggle to get air into his lungs, entire body tightening with every gasp. He knew that Scott was in trouble, needed that medicine to reach his airways yesterday if he was going to avoid a trip to the emergency room. To keep himself from adding to the situation, he sat next to Scott so that their shoulders were touching and whispered, “Keep breathing, man. I need you to keep breathing for me.” 

Stiles watched as his father rose and walked a few feet to the left, then the right and back again, a barely noticeable kind of pacing that Stiles wouldn’t have detected had he not been so eager to know what Melissa was saying on the other end. 

"She's meeting us at the hospital,” John announced once he ended the call. “Help me get Scott down the stairs and into the car." He tossed the phone onto Stile's bed before squatting back down in front of the two boys. "Hang in there, Scott. Just try to breathe as best you can." His voice was low and even, the slight unease he'd shown while on the phone suddenly absent. "That's it, in and out." 

"S-she doesn't make him go to the ER unless she's afraid he's...," Stiles said, feeling the hair on his arms rise as he thought about the last time Scott was in the hospital barely a year ago when he wasn't allowed to see him. 

"Stiles, look at me," John’s voice grew serious as he motioned for his son to make eye contact with him. "Relax before I have to ask you to stay behind." 

"I'm not leaving Scott!" _They’ll have to pry my hands off of the rail on his bed. I'm not letting them take me out of the room this time_ , Stiles thought. 

“Then I suggest you calm yourself down so that we can get Scott to a doctor." John’s tone grew serious, even though he knew his son was too far into his panic to back away without help. 

"He's going to be all alone! They're going to make his mother sign paperwork while he goes through it all alone," Stiles whispered as he put his head down on his curled up knees, feeling the rush of adrenaline and the tightening of his muscles that he had come to know quite well. 

"Stiles, look at me again. Look at me," his father ordered, knowing that his son was slipping into the confines of a panic attack, but all Stiles could do was close his eyes and try his best to keep his breathing from matching Scott's. "I need you to help me get Scott to the hospital. We're wasting time here." 

"T-the last time you had an attack," Stiles said nervously as he ignored his father, body beginning to shake, "you were laying on the lacrosse field during that game against Mansville gasping like a fish out of water. I thought…I thought I was going to lose you like I lost…and they wouldn't let me in. They wouldn't let me stay with you. What if…what if I'm not there and-" Stiles couldn't keep his breathing from quickening, his throat suddenly feeling like it was closing. 

"Genim Stilinski!" his father boomed, making Stiles crouch inward. "Snap out of it!" 

"Stop yelling at me!" He hated that he couldn't control it, could only think about how much he was letting Scott down as the panic attack began to take over completely, making him look like a five year old in the middle of a temper tantrum. 

"Stiles," Scott tried, swallowing between sentences. "You're here now." Though Stiles' heartbeat was rushing in his ears, he had heard the faint voice of his best friend and willed himself as best as possible to focus on the breathy words. He wanted to tell him to stop talking, that it would only make the asthma worse, but part of him wanted Scott to keep reassuring him. "S'okay," Scott gasped, "I'll be okay…because of you." Stiles felt Scott's fingers wrap his on the carpet, a sense of calm radiating from that very spot and filling his body, allowing Stiles to slowly move from the ball he'd rolled into. 

"Promise me you won't stop breathing like you did that time in seventh grade, when your dad finally moved out and you were in the hospital for two weeks because they had to put you on a ventilator." Stiles could feel hot tears sliding down his dry cheeks, but he didn't care; the panic attack was subsiding, almost as if the tears were the anxiety being released. "Promise me that you'll buy like, five inhalers and keep two of them on you all the time. And that you'll wake me up the next time you feel like your chest is getting tight in the middle of the night. And-"

"Okay," Stiles' father interrupted quietly, his best shot at taking control of the situation again. "Enough promises. Let's get Scott into the car before he turns blue." 

"Okay," Stiles sniffed, panic just a small pit in the middle of his stomach as he squeezed Scott's hand. 

"Okay," John said before him and his son helped raise Scott to his feet and assisted him down the narrow staircase. They guided him into the backseat where he leaned his head against the windowpane and sucked in as much air as he could from the open window once the car started rolling. 

"I shouldn't have let myself panic," Stiles apologized as he sat beside Scott, wanting to place a hand on his friend's back, but knowing that the added pressure would make it harder for him to breathe. So he just looked down at his still-shaking hands and continued. "You needed me and I let myself go _there_. You've never really seen me panic like…anyway…I'm sorry, Scott. I'm so fucking sorry, you don't even know." 

"S'okay," Scott managed, breaths shallow as let the cool night air breeze against his face. "Everything's okay." 

"No, it's not!" Stiles protested. "I should have had that spare inhaler. I should have woken up earlier." But Scott just shushed him and grabbed Stiles' hand again, Stiles' heartbeat falling into time with that of Scott's. He knew that once the medicine was delivered to his aching chest, he'd be golden, so he closed his eyes and pictured Allison rushing to class just as the bell was ringing, dark curls airborne as she turned to smile and wave. Allison, who didn't even know he was asthmatic. Allison, who would rub the small of his hand with her thumb in the middle of a movie or while the two were holding hands under the table in the lunchroom. He wondered how he could feel so strongly about a girl, wondered if his father had ever felt that for his mother, then decided it wasn't worth thinking about. Because Scott was starting to see spots in the distance, despite the fact that his eyes were closed, and even though he was breathing, he didn't feel like he was. No, his lungs were screaming for air, and no matter how hard he tried to grasp at the image of Allison smiling and confused as he handed her a pen the day they met, his asthma just wouldn't let him. 


	2. Chapter 2

Scott's voice was barely audible by the time his mother arrived at his bedside in the emergency room due to a combination of the nebulizer mask placed over his mouth and nose and the small amount of air able to move through his failing lungs. He had his legs crisscrossed as he leaned over himself, t-shirt off and in a ball behind him exposing his chest muscles pulling tight each time he inhaled. "Can't breathe," he wheezed, eyes squinting and mouth wide as he grabbed at his chest, making his mother's heart ache as their eyes met. “Hurts.” 

"I know, baby," Melissa, in wrinkled pajamas and unbrushed hair, nearly cried as she put her hand on his, ignoring the IV a nurse had placed just minutes before so that she could wrap her fingers around his. "This is a bad one, I know." And she did, which was why her eyes grazed over the open chart on the moveable workstation behind her, hand still tight around Scott's as she searched the top paper for his blood pressure, heart rate, and the medications that had already been administered. 

"I'm really sorry about all of this, Melissa," John said as he slid his hands in his pockets while he studied Scott, the exhaustion from working so hard to breathe apparent in the redness that had cast itself across his face. 

"We used to go through night attacks a lot when Scott was younger," she explained, remembering how she'd made him sleep with a baby monitor next to his bed until he was thirteen, any murmur or cough sending her running down the hallway. Scott was often sound asleep as she paused in his doorway, anxiety calming only slightly when she realized he was fine. 

"My wife…she used to handle this stuff when Scott slept over." 

"I know. I'm glad that you called, though," was all that Melissa could think to say. She knew that things had been hard for John and his son recently and was afraid that Scott's attack had made them both revisit emotions that they'd packed away nearly a year and a half ago. "Scott's asthma can get serious pretty quickly." 

"How long until he's breathing normally again?" Stiles asked, eyes watching intently as a nurse pulled a clear liquid from a vial into a syringe. The patches and wires on Scott's chest had thrown Stiles into a new level of panic since the nurse had stuck them on ten minutes ago, leaving him extremely aware of the low but fast paced beeping of the heart monitor beside the bed. 

"Hopefully ten, fifteen minutes. It's a pretty nasty attack," Dr. Channery, a doctor that Scott had seen many times before in the ER, answered as the nurse pushed the contents of the syringe into the tube that was part of the line in Scott's hand. “The epinephrine should help.” 

"Your son was very brave," John found himself saying to fill the silence that had fallen between everyone. Stiles' head dropped in embarrassment, the fact that he had been unable to control his anxiety like Scott had managed despite his impaired breathing making him feel like a complete disappointment in the eyes of his father. 

"Thank you, but I think he's just been through this enough times to keep himself calm." _Unlike the one person who was supposed to help him_ , Stiles thought as he let his head drop lower and turn away from everyone. _I'm such a horrible friend_. 

"His pulse ox is coming up already," the nurse smiled as she wrote down the numbers that had appeared in red on the clip over Scott's pointer finger. Melissa half-smiled back, knowing from past experience that they weren't out of the woods just yet, especially since Scott's eyes were closed tightly now, breathing just as labored as when she'd first walked in. 

"His nebulizer's dry," Melissa commented as she pulled the mask and it's strap over Scott's head, hands going for the drawer on the workstation to find the liquid albuterol on autopilot. 

"I've got it," the nurse, a woman Melissa barely knew because she always worked a different shift, offered quietly, but Melissa continued to refill the reservoir anyway, finally restrapping the mask onto Scott's face. The doctor looked up briefly as he scribbled something onto a piece of paper, but let Melissa continue because of how often the worked together. 

"Better?" she asked her son, who nodded gently as he slowly made his way to lean against the inclined back of the bed, muscles in his neck and chest finally beginning to relax from the injection. "You look a little better," she smiled, hand grabbing for Scott's and squeezing it lightly, eyes reading the pulse ox monitor, which read 84 and then 85. "I'm going to go talk to Dr. Channery outside and get some paperwork done. You sit tight, okay?" Melissa patted Scott's hand, motioning for John to follow her. The nurse and doctor exited the curtained room, leaving Stiles and Scott alone for the first time since everything had started just an hour before. 

"You scared the shit out of me," Stiles confessed as he inched closer to Scott's bed, eyes closed so that the tears pricking his eyelids couldn't fall. "Because I thought all of it, the inhalers and the breathing treatments and the panicked trips to the ER…I thought it was something I'd never have to worry about again after you got bitten, but apparently that's not the case." He traced a circle on the white bed sheet with his forefinger, mouth twisting to hold back another set of tears as he swallowed hard and slow. "I used to stay up, when we had sleepovers as kids. You always fell asleep right away, even if we promised each other we'd stay up all night." Stiles chuckled, but it was clear in his glassy eyes and how his voice pulled that he was keeping a sob in his throat. "I'd be up for hours listening to you breathe, waiting for the hiccup that might start a coughing fit or bout of wheezing. I even…," he started, but paused to keep himself from breaking, "I even kept a spare inhaler in my backpack, which is why it wasn't in the medicine cabinet like it should have been. Until three months ago, at least, when I threw it out, which was stupid," he berated himself, lifting his hand into a fist and holding it against his forehead. "I'm so fucking stupid!" 

"No, Stiles," Scott pulled the mask down as he shook his head, breathing even and much easier now, so that he could stop his best friend from feeling so guilty. "This is not your fault." 

"I let my guard down because I thought you didn't need me anymore, because it seemed like you were doing so much better without me always…always…," Stiles mumbled through tears as they finally flowed over his lips, unable to finish. 

"You are the reason I'm here, breathing, right now." Scott took a few quick breaths from the mask, following with, "What if I had been at home…alone? What if I hadn't had you there…to wake me up?" Stiles lowered his fist, but Scott knew he'd have to do better if he was going to calm his friend down enough to get him to stop the guilt trip his was forcing upon himself. "I wouldn't have realized I was getting sick until it was too late, when I wouldn't have had…the air to call for my mom. You know," Scott paused to take a deep breath before continuing, "how my asthma is at night, how I sleep through the beginning of an attack." His throat tightened a little at the thought and he pulled the mask back into place, taking in the white, misty medicine to relax his tired airways. "Tonight was all you," Scott managed. 

"I don't know what happened," Stiles cried before sniffling quickly. "You haven't so much as wheezed in three months and now you're here, fighting to breathe. I must have done something wrong. Maybe there were peanuts in the cookies I bought; I should have checked the label. O-or when I was scooping ice cream from the Neapolitan tub maybe I scraped some of the chocolate-"

"Stiles," Scott interrupted, pulling the mask down again while his friend bit his lip. "I've been eating peanut butter and chocolate for months now. It wasn't that. This isn't your fault!" 

"Aren't you wondering why?" 

"No, not really." 

"Well I am! Because you've been unstoppable since the night we went searching for the second half of that body. You can heal, for goodness sakes. So why this, why now? While you were sleeping?" Stiles' tears slowed, his feet starting to pace a three-foot section of the room as his attention shifted from emotions to facts. "It doesn't make sense." 

"I don't know," Scott sighed, exhaustion filling his body despite the amount of simulants in his system, "but I've had asthma my entire life and I'm kind of okay with it." 

"Are you getting a cold? Maybe your wolfiness is wearing off, or you've developed a new allergy-"

"Or maybe I just have asthma and you're making it worse by getting all worked up!" 

"Look, Scott," Stiles sighed as he walked right up to his side, tears drying on his cheeks. "Something is going on here and it's my job to figure it out. That's what I do: Put the pieces together and figure shit out, especially stuff related to you, which affects me, by the way. It affects me so much that I full-on panic when I realize that one day you might not be standing next to me because your airways can decide to close and fill with mucous whenever your immune system decides to overreact." 

"Can we do this tomorrow? It's like five in the morning, and now that my lungs aren't acting like they're running a marathon, I'm wiped." 

Stiles nodded even though he didn’t want to and shifted his attention to the monitor, low and even beeping helping to repress his anxiety over putting off the conversation with Scott for a few hours. 

x

"How're you feeling?" Melissa asked as she reentered the room with John and the doctor in tow a few minutes later. 

"Exhausted, but much better,” he smiled, eyes drooping. 

"You guys can go home as soon as your pulse ox stays stable and your wheezing clears up,” Dr. Channery said, pulling the stethoscope from around his neck and putting the buds in his ears. Scott sat up and let the doctor listen. "Still wheezing a bit. What was his last pulse ox reading?" 

"85," Melissa read off of his chart. 

"It's stayed, but I want it higher," the doctor frowned, placing his equipment back around his neck. "Scott, I'm putting you on oxygen. Tube under your nose and around your ears. You know the routine." 

"Sounds good to me." Scott, ready to slip into a deep slumber, leaned back to relax as Dr. Channery replaced his nebulizer mask with a nasal cannula under the boy's nose and around his ears. He then added information to Scott’s chart and clicked his pen closed, waving to Melissa as he headed for the hallway. 

"I think that's our cue to leave," John nodded to Stiles once the room was silent except for Scott's slightly wheezy breathing and the monitor beside his bed. 

"Can't we stay until they know for sure?" The anxiety was back, climbing up Stiles' throat and threatening to well up in his tear ducts. 

"I think everyone here could use some sleep. Scott's okay for now, and-" John tried, but his son would not let him finish. 

"For now. _Okay for now_.” 

"It's time to go home, son,” John said sternly. “If Scott's still here tomorrow, you can visit. I have to be at work in two hours and I only had three full hours of sleep." 

“But-”

"Call me if you need to, Melissa," John offered as he grabbed a hold of his son's shirt and slowly pulled him towards the door. 

"Thank you, for everything. I'll let you know how he's doing in the morning." 

"Hang in there, Scott," Stiles added as he was whisked out of the room, sneakers squeaking from resisting his father's pull. 

"I'm afraid…to go…to sleep," Scott whispered breathlessly to his mother once they were the only two in the room. She sat down on the edge of his bed, hand going to her son's forehead to push the hair from his eyes. 

"Just take deep breaths. The oxygen will help your body compensate,” Melissa said, her voice calm as she coached him. "It'll pass soon." 

"No," he shook his head, chest still tight. 

"Scott, baby," Melissa's voice grew softer as she glanced over at the monitors and then to the pulse ox clip, realizing that this was more anxiety than asthma. "You can beat this. The epinephrine is already in your system. In and out, just like we always used to practice." Scott let his head fall, fingers rubbing the clear oxygen tubing hanging in front of him for comfort. His breaths slowed a bit, monitors relaying this to the rest of the room. "There you go, just like that. It's only a panic attack." 

“I’m still scared.” 

"I'll be here in case it starts up again,” she offered softly. 

"Stiles had to wake me up this time,” he admitted. “I knew it was happening, but I…I couldn't come out of my dream. It was like I was drowning. I couldn't get to the surface." 

"Shh, don't worry about that right now. Just close your eyes." 

The fatigue of the last hour and a half took over, his eyes closing at his mother's command, mouth opening slightly as he turned his head to rest on the pillow where his mind slowed and he dreamt of Stiles pushing him up from the bottom of the ocean, Scott's head breaking the surface time and time again, air reaching as far as his fingertips with each easy inhale. 


End file.
